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| may 2010 |
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| Letting Go | 12:01am saturday, 29th may |
I make too much of the patterns I perceive. I think it’s like the song, Overkill: “I can't get to sleep / I think about the implications / Of diving in too deep / And possibly the complications / Especially at night / I worry over situations / I know will be alright / It’s just overkill”. Seriously, one must chill if he sees the metaperception that he himself seems to be trippin’ on this phenomenon, or that. Hard to shake oneself free from such rides, sometimes, however. I understand, je comprends. Letting go is a skill that takes years of practice, I have found. Strange thing that I have found is that when you do let go, the good things hold on, and the bad things are left behind. As if there were an invisible hand behind all this, that knows better. *wink*
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| turning | 6:00pm tuesday, 25th may |
at the turning of the clock
this message will disintegrate
into the background noise
and you will wonder not once
where such things must go
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| Can | 1:41am friday, 21st may |
I want to read one day that we have stepped back from the brink. That sanity is what reigns, that we have stopped listening to (our own) stupidity. What sometimes surprises me is that I still hope for this, against all hope, that the world has not beaten it out of me. Or better yet, it was ripped from me at some point and somehow re-coalesced within my soul. For there is something in me that still wonders how it can come to pass, that we as a human race can as a sum total learn from what has been. I see such progress in some things that exist, in what we call a civilization, and I can only dream that we might preserve the good, like cupping a hand over a small candle — our only light — against the winds of time, which snuffs all things...
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| stopped | 1:38am monday, 17th may |
at times my heart will stop me dead in my tracks
as if i were mired in an infinite tar, to breathe my only function
heart, too fractured to break any more than it has
and i have stopped feeling, for a time, i am less than a dream
the invisible wall has a name that i forget, elsewhere
tomorrow will come, and my will shall return, onward go
today the harshness will pass through me, a test in fire
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| try | 1:22am thursday, 13th may |
let me at least be valiant in the attempt: i must try
or is it just a lesson that none are proof against everything?
and is it we need not survive to win, if just we believe...
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| hush | 7:00am sunday, 9th may |
i will kiss you with my whispers
when the moon remembers us
a summer sky of shooting stars
we knew for one single moment
why all the world was as it was
and the dream within your eyes
the soul of a rose just blooming
to kiss the hush where i awaken
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| Belief | 12:30am wednesday, 5th may |
There came a point where the madness lost its power on me. When I figured out that what it was between believing I was the Antichrist or not was a choice simply between insanity and sanity — and I choose sanity, always. When the fear struck me at various points in my being, and I knew that it was false, to perceive what it tried to make convince me of. What I realized was that the world wasn’t opening up to show me the horror that lurked always beneath its surface: I was not dying, I was not being sent to Hell, I was not going to lose my mind in any way. Anyone else out there broken? Try looking for the pattern, when the madness overtakes you and makes you think horrible things — do they ever come out to be true? Because however real things seem, the actual reality has a habit of outlasting any kind of paranoia. That’s what you’re looking for: what exists when the fear subsides. Don’t just be relieved, figure out the facts behind what you thought things were. In this is the sanity.
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| Mystery | 8:30am saturday, 1st may |
Before I woke, the Lord Himself told me of all the things I’d seen: awake or not, all of this was the dream of it. This was yet another example of the madness figuring itself out for me, telling me exactly what it is. Which that in itself might make one pause, perhaps in this telling a clue, a finger pointing to the moon, or just up. For I have always thought that larger voices have called me, however mysterious the message may be that they hint at. The greater implications I do not understand, I don’t think, or I am afraid to try and pry their meanings loose. But a dream: this is somewhat less than the world, somehow more than one’s own imagination. What is it, exactly, that we connect to in the dreaming? Perhaps, as with many things, there is meaning in its mystery. And greater than the comprehension, the experience....
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